The Tragedy of the Broken Bars
by idkaname
Summary: Your classic Holmes w/ a twist. Two extras who are close to the heart. Durring "The Case of the Empty House." Does contain some violence.
1. Chapter 1 Goodbye

**1- Goodbye**

"Bye, Papa!" cried a little girl as she ran up to her father.

"Take care of your mother Julia while I am at work." He responded, picking up the smiling girl.

"Remember John," said a beautiful woman who had come down the front stairs, "Be home by dinner. Julia has a surprise for you."

"Oh, you do?" he said, tickling the child.

"You'll see, Papa!" she giggled as her father set her down.

"I will, Mary, don't you worry." He said this as he backed out the door of the Watson family home.

As Doctor John Watson was walking to his office, he was thinking about how he had met his lovely wife, Mary. It was all thanks to his dear departed friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the man who had given his life to defeat his cunning nemesis, Moriarty. He was to be named Julia's godfather, but probably to his displeasure. The Watsons had tried to keep Julia, their three year old daughter from knowing about Holmes. But how can you keep a child who could read and write at the age of two, from knowing about the greatest detective in history?

"In history…" He sighed as he entered his office and sat at his desk.

He heard the door open and looked up to see a book seller walk in. "I heard you might be a needing some books, for your collection." The man pointed to where Watson kept the notebooks he wrote in during his friendship with Holmes.

"No, I am not in any need of any books, now please leave." Watson ordered, pointing to the door.

"Not interesting in buying books for your wife, or your child?" the man asked with a queer twinkle in his eyes.

"How?" gasped Watson. "Get out this instant!" he then shouted, actually frightened.

He turned for just a moment when he heard the voice he had been longing to hear for three years, "Come now Watson, I have just arrived, and you are trying to throw me onto the street?"


	2. Chapter 2 Welcome Back

**2- Welcome Back**

"Holmes?" Watson gasped as he turned with an astonished look on his face. Sure enough, standing in the center of the room was Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

"Watson it is marvelous, truly marvelous to be back in London. Tell me, Watson, has Mrs. Hudson kept up our old quarters? I do hope so, for there are some commodities that I desperately need, like rest. Watson, do you mind if I rest here, on your patient bed?" as he said each man took in the appearance of their old friend.

"I do not mind what so ever, Holmes. Surly you would want something a bit more comfortable? You may return with me to my home today, and then worry about Baker Street tomorrow. Or, Holmes, you do not have to leave my home at all. Forget about Baker Street and this detective business." Watson was trying to persuade Holmes so that he could understand what happened on that bridge those three long years ago.

"I gratefully accept your offer, but please, let me rest here. Also, if you see it fit, you may tell me, in summary, what has happened in our crime filled city?" Holmes rasped as he sat back on the patient bed and closed his eyes.

Watson began with his summary of the events. Two weeks after Holmes's disappearance, Moriarty's body was found. A month later, Julia was born. A year later, the Watsons and Holmes's brother, Mycroft, were notified that the last of Moriarty's henchmen in England had been captured. Soon Julia was finding out about Holmes, against the Watsons' earlier judgment. Other than that, nothing of importance had happened, until now.

When Watson looked to his old friend, he heard his even breathing; as if he finally had a moment's peace in the city he served as the greatest detective, no longer just in history.


	3. Chapter 3 Speckled Fever

**3- Speckled Fever**

Holmes awoke around three o' clock that afternoon. He awoke to an empty room and a note.

_Dear Holmes:_

_I do hope you are feeling better, for you have been resting for nearly five hours. I had to return to my home, Julia has fallen ill. Please come to my home upon whence you read this note. I reside at 138 Claryville Road._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Watson_

"Watson signs like a school boy, but that could be the effect of his doctorate." He grumbled as he found his coat and stepped out of the door.

He caught a cab, and as he approached, the cabbie jumped and nearly fell from his seat.

"M, M, M..." the driver stuttered.

"Shut you blubbering mouth!" Holmes cried, recognizing the man as the one who had driven them around during the case known as the Sign of the Four. "Just get up and drive!" he shouted impatiently.

After regaining his composure, the cabbie urged the horses to move and asked, still faltering slightly, "Where to, Mr. Holmes?"

"138 Claryville Road; you can take your time, I am in no hurry." They were off at a moderate pace, taking them no more than fifteen minutes to reach their destination.

Holmes eased himself out of the carriage and walked up the path to the house. The door was opened by Watson's wife.

"Ah, you are Mrs. Mary Watson, correct? I have come to see your husband, on invitation" he stated, barley recognizing her from her wedding, which he had attended.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, it truly is you! John told me, but I thought it was just someone trying to break our hearts!" she said this hurriedly before she gave Holmes a kiss on the cheek. If any one was watching, they would swear that Holmes blushed. "You will never need an invitation to come to our home." she said, having calmed down some.

A voice came floating down the front stairs, "Mary, dampen a towel with cool water. Please do hurry." the voice was Watson's.

Instead of Mary going up, Holmes ascended with the damped towel.

"Holmes, you've come!" said Watson, being careful not to disturb the child sleeping on the bed in front of him.

They sat there in silence as Watson tended to the little girl. She had Watson's hair and complexion, however pale, with Mary's beautiful features. Holmes thought to himself: _She is beautiful, and knowing her parent, her mind will be a diamond in the rough of London. Probably enough to impress even my elder brother, Mycroft. _Watson began jotting notes in a medical type book.

"What is she ill with, Watson? Are there any books at Baker Street that could help?" Holmes whispered, truly concerned for the girl.

"She has speckled fever, and unfortunately no, I moved all of my medical books here after, after, well, you know. We just have to wait and pray." At that the girl opened her eyes, her beautiful blue-grey eyes.


	4. Chapter 4 Storytelling

**4- Story Telling**

"Is that Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I must be in heaven to see him. Am I dead?" she was ashen white, and her forehead had small droplets of sweat although most had been mopped up by the towel.

"You are not dead my little Julia, and neither is Mr. Holmes." as he said this, small bits of color and life reentered her features.

"Am I dieing?" she asked softly, and to the men's surprise, calmly.

"No, er, Julia, you are stricken with speckled fever, but knowing your father, you will pull through." Holmes said, attempting to comfort the child.

"Papa, you knew, know, Mr. Holmes? Oh Papa, why didn't you ever tell me? Please tell me!" her smile shown brightly through the clouds of her sickness.

"Rest, Julia, rest." Watson soothed, making a failed attempt to calm the child.

"Please, Mr. Holmes, tell me all about it!" she was practically jumping in her bed.

"If, and only if, you are calm." Holmes had his old air of demand back in his voice, but he played it to entertain the child.

There was a moment of silence from the men as Julia began to cough uncontrollably. Her father rushed to her bedside and handed her a glass of water. Julia's cough eventually died down, but by that point, she was out of breath. It was a few moments before she was able to speak.

"I have calmed down, so now you speak." She said, coughing between most of her words.

"Pray do, Holmes." Watson said, with obvious anticipation.

Half an hour later, Mary opened the door to Julia's room silently. Julia was asleep while Holmes and her husband talked by the window. She overheard the last piece of their conversation.

"So you disappeared to protect us?"

"Yes, Watson. If it was under any other circumstances, I would have returned sooner."

"We could have taken the burden."

"No, Watson, you could not take such a deadly burden, and neither could I."

Holmes immediately whirled around to look at Mary, still standing in the doorway. Holmes read her eyes, and from what Watson could see, he excused the fact she had eavesdropped.

"I will accept your offer to remain, but for just a breath." Holmes said, putting his hand on Watson's shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5 Rude Awakening

**5-Rude Awakening**

Holmes stayed with them for another week. He later returned to 221B South Baker Street to find his old quarters the same, and a very joyous Mrs. Hudson at the door.

For the next few months, Holmes would visit the Watsons. He went both to retrieve Watson, and to check on the girl he had come to know and love as Julia, Julia Watson.

One day, Holmes came running into the house, past Mary, and up the stairs. He strode to the door of Julia's room, knocked, then barged in without waiting for a response.

"What is it, Holmes?" Watson asked, attempting to calm Julia, Holmes, and himself, but failing miserably.

"Watson you must come with me. Julia, I am sorry to drag you father away, but it is of the utmost importance. Watson, a case has arisen!" he said, waiving his hand in a short, crisp upward motion.

Watson gathered his supplies, bid Julia goodbye, and kissed his wife on the way out the door. They hailed a cab to return to the apartment on Baker Street they once shared.

When they entered, a very flustered Mrs. Hudson greeted them at the door. As the mounted the stairs up to the room, many memories flashed before Watson: the laughs, the criminals, even the Baker Street Irregulars; who had mourned greatly over the supposed loss of Holmes.

Then they entered the room, Watson saw broken glass from one of the windows on the floor, and a small caliber bullet on a plate on the oaken wooden end table.

"This is what I awoke to." Holmes said, pointing to the glass on the floor and the bullet. Watson also noticed that he sounded tired, as if his morning had started itself a little earlier than normal.

Watson stooped over and peered at the chunk of lead. "It appears to have been fired from an air gun of some sort or from an unobstructed long distance." He turned to see Holmes with his head protruding from the window.

Watson joined him and scanned the street bellow. He looked to see an abandoned house or apartment directly across the street, a window level with the shot out window. He was about to bring this to Holmes's attention when he was interrupted by a stream of ideas from a very weary detective. "It is of the forty-fifth caliber. It was indeed shot from that window across the street. I agree with your air gun theory. But I will have to do further research." He said as he pulled his head out of the window and sat at the tea table laden with shards of glass.

"Have you gone to the police? They may be able to help us catch the fiend." Watson said, having left the window and paced back to his old wicker chair by the fire.

"Most of the time, we are the entire police force, Watson!" he said this with the queer laugh that Watson had missed dearly.

"That is terribly true. Every profession has its downfalls." He sighed as he cradled the leg that had been shattered by a bullet in Afghanistan so many years ago.

"And its risks, remember the islander back, oh, when was it. Yes, during the Sign of the Four. He nearly killed us with one of his poisoned darts. And when…" Holmes continued on, but Watson did not listen, the thought of the Sign of the Four drew his mind back to his wife, whose treasure was never found, and his daughter. He missed them, though he had been gone no more than half of an hour.


	6. Chapter 6 Information

**6- Information**

It did not take long for news of the incident to spread around London. This effectively blew Holmes's cover out of the water.

Watson visited Holmes the next day; he entered through the door with a worried expression on his face. Holmes was pacing back and forth between the door and the tea table, as if he was waiting for someone or something that was now late.

"What seems to be the matter Holmes?" no response, "Are you waiting for someone, or something?" a grunt emanated fro the pacing detective, "Well, out with it!" Watson demanded, grasping Holmes's shoulders to keep him still, for Watson had become terribly dizzy.

"Information, Watson, information!" Holmes cried, breaking free and sitting down.

"You are obsessing! Relax; we will take this one problem at a time." Watson said as he sat across from Holmes.

"Yes, I am. But what do you expect, for me to be as calm and easy going, as, as a child?" He retorted, getting very agitated.

"Are you saying that my daughter has now worries, just because she is a child? She admires your work, even did some of her own deducting last month, she said she would give anything to be your student. And this is what you think of children!" Watson practically screamed. The bitter words came rushing to his mouth, though he had not willed them to.

"Watson! Let this not come to blows. We are both agitated, neither of us have a reason. As you said, let us take this one problem at a time." Holmes said, standing with great speed, reminding Watson that he had been a prize fighter. Although he went about this endeavor in a previous life, he still knew how to fight.

"I am sorry, truly sorry. I do not know what came over me! I do believe we should let the issue boil over. Work independently, for both of our sakes. I will meet you again tomorrow, if you agree to it." Watson said, being truly apologetic.

"I agree. There are also some leads that I would like to pursue on my own. So I will see you tomorrow." At that, Watson began to exit. "Wait, Watson! I have forgotten to tell you great fact that we will both need to keep in consideration. You said that a year after my disappearance, all of Moriarty's henchmen were captured." Holmes said, wishing Watson to linger for a while more, realizing that something was not right with him.

"A year after your disappearance, all of the ones in England were captured. Not all over. Are you saying this is the work of a foreigner? How would they have been able to find you?" this proved to Watson that they should work together, constant brainstorming as Julia will call it in future years.

"No, just someone who was recently in a foreign country. But hat does bring up the question, how did he find me?" he said this as he waltzed over to the mantel and took out his pipe, the long black one with a white filter.

"A past client, maybe, but then how could he have known you were back, still alive even." Watson had joined Holmes at the mantel.

"That is it!" Holmes shouted, "He knew I was alive, because he was the one who shot at me on the bridge. And he knew I was back because he saw me go back in forth from your home to here." he sat down heavily, "But who was shooting at me on the bridge?"

"We could cross reference your client list with the roster of those who recently returned. From where did you say he returned?" Watson questioned, glancing to Holmes.

"I did not say anything of that manner, but most likely India." Holmes said, once again on the move.

He retrieved his bulging notebook of clients, handed it to Watson, than sat at the tea table to eat the cold remains of his breakfast. Watson was finally able to leave. However, he left reluctantly.


	7. Chapter 7 Two People

**7- Two People**

Watson hailed a cab to set out for the recruiting house of England military forces. It took almost an hour to reach the stately brick building. He entered, giving his name and his past rank, army medical surgeon of the second class. He was escorted into a larger room, similar to the parlor of his home, large with tiled floors, front staircase, and a back door. He stated what his mission was, and from who he had been sent. He was then ushered into a library of rosters.

A scribe of some sort fell from his chair in surprise. Visitors scarcely entered the dank section of the building, especially for the purpose that Watson later stated to the scribe. That is, after he had returned to his high stool, and had attempted to brush the dust from his uniform.

"You say that you need the returning roster of the latest two-year-long service?" the man asked, in utter shock. "You will definitely need something to narrow down your search. There are over a thousand!" the man was starting to get hysterical.

"Do you keep the names in alphabetical order?" Watson said, hoping it would be yes.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" the man snapped back, although attempting to calm himself down.

"Could you point me in the correct direction?" Watson said.

"I can do more than that. Just follow me, and don't get lost." The scribe practically leaped from his stool, eager to leave his work behind.

I took fifteen minutes and several kinks in their necks to find the book they were looking for. When they pulled it down, the cover had what appeared to be random drops of ink, probably from a certain scribe who had fallen asleep with a pen in his hand. Watson took it to the table at the end of the row of books; there was a table like it at the end of every row. He spent hour after hour flipping through the pages. After three hours, he had finished.

There were only two names, a General James Frances and a Lieutenant Joseph Crick.

Watson set off, eager to see his family again. When he arrived he noticed a small black envelope sitting on the table, he opened it up to find a bottle of cyanide and a note.

_Dr. John Watson, _

_I know who you are, and who you are friends with. Next time I will be more direct. -986_

This frightened Watson beyond his service in India, when Holmes disappeared, or the thought of loosing his daughter to speckled fever.

He ran up the stairs to find Mary reading a story to Julia, _King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table_. The look in Julia's eyes said that she was here, but her mind could be all the way in King Arthur's time.

"Oh, John, you are back!" but Mary was cut off by Watson.

"Mary, did you go to the post office today? Tell me, did you go to the post office today?" he said, franticly.

"No, John, did you want me to? I could leave now." She was about to leave when Watson grabbed her shoulders.

"Mary, do not leave this house! Lock all of the doors and windows. I will be back in no more than an hour. Julia, make sure your mother follows the directions to the letter." He said this as he kissed them both.

"Then how do you leave? I always confuse it with leaf." Julia muttered.

"L, e, a, v, e. Is that all Julia?" he asked, noting that Julia could put humor into any situation.


	8. Chapter 8 Forget About It

**8- Forget About It**

He rushed down Main Street and turned right onto Baker Street, stopping in front of Holmes's apartment. He ran past Mrs. Hudson, up the stairs, and into the sitting room.

"What happened to tomorrow, Watson?" Holmes asked. He was sitting in his chair with his eyes closed.

"How did you know it was me?" Watson gasped, for he had not knocked or spoke to Mrs. Hudson.

"You ran, from the street; a client would have taken a cab, and then run up just the stairs. And your limp, it is very distinct; it is more or less a half limp, but still unique." He said, with his eyes still closed, except now he was smiling.

"After ten years, I would hope that it was only a half limp." He said, huffing and puffing from the run. "Holmes, I must tell you something. I found this note on my parlor table this afternoon at one o' clock. Mary has not gone to the post office." he handed Holmes the note, the cyanide still within.

"Watson, where are Julia and Mary? I hope they are safe. I guess our shooter after more than my head." He laughed off his grave smile with his last sentence.

"There were only two possibilities for our shooter; a General James Frances and a Lieutenant Joseph Crick." Watson said, calming a little after Holmes's joke.

"Make that one, this morning's newspaper holds Lieutenant Joseph Crick's name in the obituaries; murder by gunshot to the head. I believe he was shot by the same gun that was aimed at my window." Holmes said, pointing to the picture in the paper.

They immediately took a carriage to Scotland Yard. They were met at the front gate by Lieutenant Lestrade, who was very happy to see Holmes, not so much to see Watson.

"Lestrade, don't say a word. We are here to tell you to gather your men to start a man hunt. It will be a hunt for the murderer of Lieutenant Joseph Crick, and the attempted murderer of Sherlock Holmes." Watson said this all while Lestrade struggled to get a word in.

After Watson finished, Holmes butted in, not giving Lestrade a chance to speak. "Watson, let us leave this one to the police." Holmes said this as he dragged Watson by the arm, back the way they came.

There was protest from Watson in the carriage, until Holmes explained to him why he had done what he did.

"If he thinks we have given up, he will not harm us." Holmes deduced.


	9. Chapter 9 A Piece Missing

**9- A Piece Missing**

They continued to live their lives as if the Case of the Empty House, as it had come to be called, had never happened. Julia began to recover, and was able to leave her room a few months later. Holmes immediately began teaching her to become a detective, and not "a proper lady." None of them cared because they still had each other. Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes's older brother, visited them a few times. He was not very happy when Julia was able to identify him using detective skills he considered women should not know.

It was two years after the window had been shot out when things began do change. It was a month after Julia's fifth birthday, and she was nearing a complete recovery from speckled fever. Watson had been called upon by Lieutenant Lestrade and a magistrate. They asked him if he wished to enroll as the city coroner, because the last one had recently retired. He agreed to the occasional case, but no more than once a month. So it was settled. They immediately gave him a case. An easy one, they said. So Watson departed at once.

Mary and Julia stayed at the house, cleaning and preparing dinner. Around three o'clock, there was a knock at the door. Mary answered and told Julia to go up stairs and clean her room, since it had become untidy.

"You are becoming more and more like Mr. Holmes!" she said, ushering the child upstairs and walking to the door.

She opened it to see two burly men, who threw her from the door. She hit the ground hard. The sound of her mother's screams brought Julia to the stairs, but recognizing the taller man to be the one in the papers under the title "Wanted."

The shorter man pulled her up and pushed her against the wall. "Where are your husband and Mr. Holmes?" he shouted.

"I do not know." she said, partially chocking. She was hit hard in the face.

Blow after blow she refused to tell them where they were because she did not know, but Julia did. Blow after blow, Julia realized what was happening. After a round of blows, Mary just went limp.

Julia was about to cry, until she saw that they would do the same to her. She just sat there, breathing as softly as possible.

She heard the door open. She turned to see her father walk in. It took him a minute to take in the scene. He then saw Julia, hiding on the back stairway. He drew his pistol and shot the two men, one went down, the shorter one; but one was only shot in the hand and kept running. The man ran out the door and on to the street. Unfortunately for 

him, standing on the street was Holmes, who heard the shots on the way to see the Watsons.

Watson ran to Mary, picking her up from the pool of blood. She was already dead, having been beaten to death. He cradled her in his arms, crying and cursing at himself for not being there. Julia sat by him on the floor, part of her soul missing, a part never to return.

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